


The Cake

by moth2fic



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Everybody Lives, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:38:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, only a cake shop can be the right background for a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pushkin666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/gifts).



> Thanks are due to Fictionwriter for a rapid beta.

"You see," said Bilbo, speaking seriously to his cousin Lobelia as if her opinion mattered, "I had so many recipes that I found on my travels, some from elves, some from Beorn's people and some from Bombur, that it seemed a shame not to use them since I also found myself with nothing to do. Or at least," he added, when Lobelia sniffed, "nothing very dangerous or time-consuming." He wasn't sure if she was sniffing because she didn't hold with elves or because she thought a cake shop in the middle of Hobbiton was lowering the name of Baggins. 

"Trade," she said, showing it was the latter concern that worried her most. Bilbo could believe in elves if he liked, she seemed to be saying, but a Baggins should never stoop to trade. A lot to be contained in one word, but Lobelia savoured words, twisted them with her sharp tongue and spat them out with a meaning they had never had before she found them. 

Bilbo looked around at his lovely shop. The Gamgees had helped him to decorate it and the wooden shelves were full with apple cakes, plum cakes, honey cakes, quince cakes and a few savoury oatcakes. Some of the sweeter cakes were iced to within an inch of their lives and here and there were interspersed with some special raisin, citrus peel and brandy pies for the solstice season. 

He was kept busy. The good hobbits of Hobbiton came at first to stare and wonder, then to buy, and then to buy again. They came for mid-morning cakes, cakes for after lunch, cakes that would just round out an afternoon tea, cakes for after-dinner dessert and cakes that would fill a corner at bedtime in case a hobbit was a little hungry. Miss Happily Wideleaf had even been to get a cake to finish off breakfast. 

So Bilbo cooked, and cooked, and cooked again. He was almost permanently up to the elbows in flour and a smear of butter frequently adorned his smile. When Lobelia called he rubbed his fingers hastily on his apron just in case she wanted to shake hands and wish him a happy solstice, but it appeared she was only there to complain about the shop being open at all.

Then young Samwise Gamgee was on the step, out of breath as he leaned against the door, making the little bell above it tinkle over and over. 

"Dwarves," he said at last. "A lot of dwarves." He paused then went on, "At least three."

"Dwarves?" said Lobelia and this time her voice conveyed contempt for any being who was not a hobbit, and perhaps for some of those too. Dwarves were not elves, certainly, being undoubtedly real, but Lobelia did not approve. 

"Dwarves," said Sam, nodding. 

"Dwarves," said Bilbo, wonder shading his voice. It was so long since he had seen them. He had been lonely, even back with his own folk. He had missed them. They had become like brothers on that quest of theirs. Well, not exactly brothers, he amended, mentally. At least, not all of them.

"Yes, dwarves," said a deeper voice and Lobelia flounced out of the shop, almost knocking over an almond cake in her haste. 

Bilbo looked up expecting Bombur with maybe Bifur and Bofur in attendance but no, Thorin Oakenshield stood there, Fili and Kili beside him. There, in his small humble cake shop in Hobbiton, stood the king and princes of the dwarves. Bilbo hoped that the tears that came to his eyes would be put down to the heat of his ovens. 

There was a short silence then Fili and Kili started whispering and shoving each other until it was quite obvious that this was a case of someone having to go first and no-one wanting to be the someone. 

"We heard about your shop," they said, both at once. "Travellers from Bree told the elves in Rivendell and they passed the information to Mirkwood and of course the wood elves told the men of Lake Town and well, here we are." It was clearly a rehearsed speech that they spoke in unison with no faltering.

"You came all this way for my cakes?" Bilbo was awed but disbelieving. 

"The roads are safer now, for a while, at least," said Thorin. "Although Gandalf says there's trouble brewing in the east."

There was another silence, broken by Bilbo. 

"So, cakes," he said. "Did you want to buy? Well, of course you did. You wouldn't come all this way just to look. I have a nice mixed fruit loaf that will keep well - probably all the way back to Erebor."

"We were thinking more of a celebration cake," said Kili. "Something iced and beautiful. With gold leaf, perhaps."

"I could ice a fruit loaf," said Bilbo, hesitantly.

"Lashings of cream," said Fili, firmly.

"But it wouldn't keep," said Bilbo.

"No need for keeping. We'd be eating it here. To celebrate." Kili spoke as he might to a child who was not quite understanding.

"To celebrate what, exactly?" Bilbo hoped his voice didn't squeak. He was feeling bothered and bewildered. 

"A wedding," said Fili. "A royal wedding."

"But surely a royal wedding would take place in Erebor..." Bilbo halted. The only royals he knew of were here in Hobbiton, in his shop. So one of them must intend to marry, but which? And who was the intended? Had they left some more of their party down the road to arrive later? That, he recalled, would be typical dwarvish behaviour. 

"Our wedding could take place here," said Thorin. "We could have a party in Erebor as well if you liked."

Bilbo looked from dwarf to dwarf, trying to make sense of this speech. 

"Uncle," said Fili, "I do believe you haven't even asked him yet."

"I was going to," said Thorin, "but you started on about cream and such things." He moved towards the counter, started to kneel then looked at the cake and pastry crumbs eager hobbits had left there earlier and thought better of it. Instead he leaned across and took one of Bilbo's hands in both his own. 

"Bilbo," he said, "Dwarf friend, Elf friend, warrior, burglar and sweet talker to dragons, you stole more than the way into the mountain and the Arkenstone. You stole my heart. I came to see if I could have it back again. With you attached, of course." 

Bilbo didn't need to think for long. The cake shop was delightful but it wasn't his life's work. Looking after the king of Erebor might turn out to be just that. But he had conditions to impose. A hobbit had his dignity and honour to preserve, though not necessarily in a way that would please Lobelia. 

"Half the year in Erebor and half here," he said. He had no idea whether Thorin would or even could agree and whether he would or even could accompany him, always, or sometimes. But it seemed fair. 

"Done," said the King under the Mountain. And it was, by royal decree.


End file.
